A letter from a loving son

Dearest Mother,

I write to you far from the fast paced excitement of London. The bucolic delights of the country are slowly seeping into my veins and I have discovered a previously unknown interest in bird watching.

I do love to observe their lithe movements as they flit from branch to branch. The melodic calls as they search for mate and kin and the way their glorious feathers catch and reflect the sunlight.

I have also been learning about the running of the estate from our good Bondsman, Nielsen. The man is veritable font of knowledge and information. Yesterday I learned about crop rotation.

I was generously allowed an afternoon off by Nielsen and I spent it watching a pair of pygmy rainbow swallows. Nielsen tells me that they haven't been seen in the area for nearly twenty years. It looks like we'll have chicks in the new season.

Do not worry, mother, I will not spend the entirety of my letter to you extolling the virtues of crop rotation and bird watching.

The neighbours have also been extraordinarily welcoming. The Martinsons organised a ball just to celebrate my arrival. It was, to say the least, a most enjoyable evening. We danced and made merry well into the small hours of the morning. I must confess, mother dear, that I danced not once but twice with Miss Sarah Martinson. She finds my stories of city life fascinating as she has never been to London before.

Miss Sarah also has the most enchanting laugh. Do you remember the donkey that Farmer Jones had when I was a boy? Her laugh sounds sounds just like that donkey.

I plan to take her riding on the Greens tomorrow. I have organised a gig and I will be picking her up for a pleasant afternoon ride. I am hoping to convince her of my feelings.

I have spoken to her father about the seriousness of my attentions. He was hesitant at first as she is, after all, an heiress with a rather large fortune. And her age is also a barrier but I find her to be wonderful young lady with an enthusiasm for life.

I hope you will come and visit the estate, mother. The doctor did say that you were to come to the country for your health. I know how you love to be the centre of attention in London but, I do hope you can bear to part with your cronies and see the marvels that I, with the help of the steadfast Nielsen, have wrought here. And you might be surprised to find yourself with a new daughter in the near future.

Your loving son,

Eustace Abernathy